Dominatrix/ Super Hero – one or the other.

Last week I wrote about finding a dominatrix in my shoulder blades and promised to continue the story.

I left off explaining that I could not, under any circumstances, send my dominatrix into a rock and be done with it, so today I’m hoping to explain why.

Fear craves reassurance and recognition.

It holds a powerful message for us and is usually created in an effort to protect us.

It is our survival tactic.

Havi writes about this, Robyn Posin writes about it, Jen Louden writes about it and now… there’s me writing about it!

To be sure, in the company of the great wisdom and love that these other women write I’m not sure about the job I can do, but I’ll do my best.

We’ve been taught to deny our fear for many different and complex reasons, so rather than protecting us it now scares us. We are fearful of the fear.

Ultimately this often means we can’t hear the message it holds, we cannot see the situations it wishes to protect us from and it ends up creating stuck and patterns like crazy while we are tearing our hair out screaming, “AAARGH!” (Okay, that could just be me, but that’s okay too.)

So it shouts and shouts and shouts. We still don’t hear it.

It creates bigger blocks and bigger drama.

“Look at me! Look at me!” It pleads, as we gaze blindly with desperation in the other direction.

Finally it settles down into a good old temper tantrum, because fear has the communication skills of a two year old toddler.

It holds its breath and threatens to kill you.

It screams and lies down in the supermarket aisle after pulling all the produce off the shelf, leaving you feeling embarrassed, desperate and wishing to god you could just walk away refuting all claims it has anything to do with you let alone belong to you.

Fear, it is fair to say, can be one huge bloody pain in the ass.

Or the shoulder blades in my case.

Unless you change tactics.

When you give fear a chance to be heard it stops playing up pretty quick.

So that’s why, when I asked my big ball of tension if it was afraid I was trying to deny its purpose it transformed in the fierce dominatrix woman and delivered its message loud and clear.

Why, when she delivered her passionate response, I realized there was no option to send her into a stone. I had to listen to her message or put up with anxiety related tension in my back until I did stop and listen.

It seemed a clear choice to make.

Let’s hear the rest then:

Fierce Woman (FW), glaring at me – no glowering at me: “You CAN NOT mess up. I hold on so that you don’t mess up. You always mess up. It is always your fault. You have to hold on so tight because of this. On no account, can you Mess Up.”

Me: “Wow FW! That’s a pretty clear message you’ve got for me there. Am I right in thinking you are worried that I am going to mess up?”

FW: “Uh yeah! Dur- I just said you always mess up didn’t I?”

Me: “Yes you did and I’m glad I heard you right because it means I can get to the bottom of this, I think. I remember as a child feeling scared and alone and worried I would do the wrong thing, because it seemed that whatever I did was the wrong thing, because I wasn’t having such a happy time of things. I know that as an adult I’ve continued to take responsibility for those feelings, blaming myself for other people’s actions and assuming that if I do things in a certain way I can be protected from the rejection I felt so keenly as a child. This is something that does cause me a lot of worry I’ll admit. Am I right therefore in thinking that you are the guardian of these things? You are there to protect me from the pain of rejections?”

FW (not glowering quite so much now that she realizes I’ve given up trying to send her into a rock): “Yes. I don’t want you to hurt. I desperately don’t want you to hurt. Hurt is overwhelming and makes you feel so rotten. If there’s a way to avoid that then that’s what I’m here for. We can avoid the hurt by making sure you don’t mess up.”

Me: “Thing is, my back right now feels like a prison. I feel locked up in this way of being and unable to move from it. It makes me tired and anxious. I am always worrying about things. This doesn’t feel much like protection to me, it actually feels like it’s not doing me much good. It doesn’t feel like you’re a guardian, it feels like you’re a prison warden.”

FW jangles the keys on her hip and shrugs nonchalantly.

Me: “I’d like to take this chance to apply my “my shit/ their shit” theory to things if you don’t mind, to see if we can see a way around things here. Do you mind?”

More shrugging and jangling

Me: “Okay, is it possible that people weren’t actually rejecting me? Is it possible that they behaved as they did towards me because of their shit? Is it possible that as a child I could not reason this and therefore assumed responsibility for their actions; I assumed I was not loveable, I assumed I was not wanted, I assumed I was no good at making friends and that this was all my fault? Is it possible, now that I’m an adult, I can look at the circumstances and see that probably I was just confused and no one realized this because they were wound up in their shit? It doesn’t stop the hurt, the hurt is still there and that is fine (hello hurt *waves*), but it does take away having to take the blame for my hurt and having to hate myself for the hurt. What do you think about that?”

FW starts to squirm a little and look at her toes: “Uh huh. Yeah. Suppose.”

Me: “Okay, good. Because I like that way of thinking waaaay more than thinking I’m not such a cool human bean. I like it because it allows me the freedom to be myself without having to worry everyone will hate me for it. I don’t have to worry so much that being me is not so acceptable. The other thing is – I like that you’re a guardian.”

FW looks up, a bit surprised at this since she’d started to think she was headed for the stone now, and interested too because well, what’s going on here then?

Me: “Yup. I do. I’m quite cool that way. Remember how I gave another part of my fear a wendy house? See? So I was wondering if we could think about a different way to protect me maybe? How about … a golden bubble shield? Yes, I quite like that. How about if you were a Super Hero, a fantastic, sexy Super Hero who protects the good in me and helped me make discerning choices about people and stuff so I don’t get hurt by being blindly trusting and hoping like mad anyone, don’t care who, just anyone will love me? How about that?”

I look up to see her quite transformed – little skirt (belt?), boots, skimpy top, hair band thingy and cuffs – oh yes cuffs. Long wavy hair. Hovering on jet blasters, with the competent strength I imagine Boadicea had, waiting to see off the baddies.

The keys are gone.

We’re having tea together next week. Awesome.

 

Advertisements

2 Responses

  1. *Swoon*

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: